


On the Fence

by aDarkerKnight



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-24
Updated: 2008-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aDarkerKnight/pseuds/aDarkerKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would the Fourth of July be without a few fireworks?</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Fence

**Author's Note:**

> This was the second of my entries for the World's Finest Summer Games - it was awarded a silver medal in the Romance category, and tied for silver in the Short Stories category. :) (and I'm totally doing the happy dance over this one as well. hee!! Thanks so much!!)

Bruce struck his opponent in one graceful, fluid motion. The tip of his foil hit Clark squarely in the chest and a green light went on immediately to the left of the mat.

"Touché," Bruce announced. "I win."

Clark shrugged. "You _always_ win."

"Because you never learn, Clark." Bruce shook his head. "I keep telling you, but you never learn."

Clark pulled off his mask and sighed. "I know... Rule number one: always protect your heart."

"There you go." Bruce pulled his own mask off, smiling, his eyes sparkling with what Clark could only guess was the thrill of victory. "Works just as well for life as it does for fencing - always protect your heart."

Clark walked off the mat and placed his foil back on its stand. "Easy for you to say," he shot over his shoulder as he headed for the showers, "you have years of practice."

Bruce watched him leave, wondering for a moment if Clark was making a statement about fencing - or his personal life.

=:=:=

Clark let the burning hot water trickle down his back for several long minutes. He hated all these combat-sport training sessions with Bruce. They were useless to him - he could subdue just about any opponent with his little finger, after all - but most of all he hated them because of all the conflicting emotions they caused in him.

In wrestling, or judo, they'd inevitably find themselves lying one on top of the other at some point, and no matter how hard Clark fought against it, he couldn't help but find himself aroused by it. And there was nothing he could do about that, except spend a little more time in the shower afterward and release the tension.

Fortunately, fencing pretty much precluded touching, although in the end, it was just as bad. Every _single_ time, Bruce would find a way to remind him of the number one rule: protecting one's heart. And hearing him utter these words only made things so much more painful - so much worse.

It was too late for Clark to even attempt to protect his heart anymore - he'd long lost it to Bruce, though he'd never be able to tell him that. It was a lost cause, a forbidden love, and though it ate away at Clark, he knew that he had no other choice but to keep silent and endure, hoping that the feeling would subside, would pass - somehow.

"Protect your heart," he mumbled, lost in his thoughts. "I wish I'd known to do that before I met you."

Clark turned the shower off, grabbed his towel and ran it over his face and hair before tying it around his hips. He pushed the curtain aside and came out of the shower stall, only to find himself face to face with Bruce.

"Were you talking to me?" Bruce asked, frowning as he finished zipping his pants up.

"Sorry?" Clark frowned as well. Had he spoken out loud? He hadn't been paying attention. "No," he said hastily. "I was just thinking - out loud apparently."

Bruce turned and reached for the towel that he had left on the bench beside him. "Anything bothering you?"

Clark's eyes were immediately drawn to the other man's strong shoulders, watching his muscles rippling as he toweled off his upper body. Unconsciously, he made a visual inventory of newer scars and bruises that he'd never noticed before, wondering where and when Bruce had gotten them, wishing he could heal them with a touch... with a kiss.

"Clark?" Bruce asked, bringing him out of his reverie. He turned to face his friend. "Is everything all right? You seem a little... I don't know... perturbed?"

"No, I'm... fine." Clark looked slightly flushed as he dragged his eyes away from Bruce's well-toned stomach.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, taking note of Clark's uneasiness. "You don't _look_ fine, Clark. What's wrong?" He pulled on a shirt and started tucking the hem into his charcoal slacks.

Clark stood, in a bit of a daze, eyes locked onto Bruce's midsection, watching his hands move up and down behind the waistband of his pants, his mind busy coming up with one fantasy scenario after another at the speed of light.

"Clark?" Bruce snapped his fingers. "Talk to me. What's the matter?"

Startled, Clark's head snapped up. "Um? I'm sorry... I'm just distracted, I guess."

"Are you sure? Because if you need to talk... I can make time for you, you know, I'll--"

"Thanks, but it's really fine." Clark shook his head and headed over to where he'd left his clean clothes. "It's just... today's the Fourth of July - busiest day of the year for me, or just about. People playing with fire and blowing themselves up with fireworks." He sighed heavily. "Really makes me wonder what they'd do if I wasn't around."

"Not something I'd like to contemplate," Bruce commented absentmindedly as he finished getting dressed. A few stray thoughts crept into his mind, but he shook them away, throwing his towel in the hamper.

"What?"

"Uh?" Bruce's eyebrows shot up. What had he been saying? "Oh, I was just agreeing - things wouldn't be the same without you around." He smiled somewhat awkwardly, grateful for the fact that Clark wasn't looking.

"Are you sure about that?" Clark asked before spinning into his clothes at super speed. "Seems like people have been taking me for granted a lot these days."

"Not everyone does, Clark," Bruce assured him. "Not everyone." He stopped just short of adding that he most certainly didn't - and never had.

"I wish that were really true." Clark sighed dejectedly. "I should probably get going, I'm sure there's plenty of accidents just waiting to happen as we speak. I'll catch you later."

Bruce watched his friend's retreating figure. "Hey, Clark?" he called out as an afterthought. "Take care of yourself."

Clark stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. "I'm invulnerable, remember?"

Bruce shook his head slightly, though he was smiling. "Not what I meant."

"Oh... Okay." Clark frowned, uncertain he understood what Bruce had meant at all. He didn't really have time to stay and ask, however. "Happy Fourth of July," he muttered halfheartedly as he disappeared into the hall.

Bruce shrugged. He hadn't had a happy Fourth of July in well over two decades, and it didn't look like this year's would be any different at all.

=:=:=

_Later that evening..._

Bruce sat in the darkness on one of the steps leading to Clark's apartment, a single unlit sparkler in his hands, and an unopened bottle of whisky beside him. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but that had been quite some time ago.

He was starting to have second thoughts now.

Third and fourth ones, too.

He didn't know for sure if Clark would even walk into his place through the front door. Especially considering he could just as easily fly in through the balcony window. It seemed to Bruce like he should have known about such details - wasn't he supposed to be the world's finest detective? But even though he knew a lot about _Superman_ 's comings and going at the JLA's Watchtower, it appeared as though Batman had failed to notice a lot of things about Clark Kent.

Until recently.

And now, it was all he could do not to notice. Now, he had a whole catalog of things he'd noticed about Clark.

Like the way his smile reached all the way to his eyes, whereas even the most genuine smile of Superman's was always guarded - never quite as warm. The touch of sibilance that crept up in his speech whenever he got angry or spoke passionately about something. How he absentmindedly chewed on his pencils while he typed his articles. Or the way his hips swayed back and forth just a little bit sometimes when he stood, arms crossed in front of his chest...

Bruce was having a very hard time getting that last image out of his mind right now, in fact. Eyes closed, it was all he could do not to transpose that motion onto a different type of position... a different type of activity...

He shook his head sharply, trying to rid himself of that particular thought. It wouldn't help to be imagining things like this.

This was probably a bad idea all around -he shouldn't have come here. If Clark had wanted to talk, he would have said so. Besides, he had friends, didn't he? What need would he have for a billionaire playboy who masqueraded as a stoic bat, when he had actual, real-life friends instead?

And considering the images running through his brain just now, Bruce was all but certain that this could only result in disaster. He should leave now, while he still could. Pretend he'd never come. That would be better for everyone.

He pocketed the sparkler, picked up the bottle and was about to stand up when he heard a voice coming from the side of the stairway.

"Bruce? What... What are you doing here?"

Trapped, Bruce forced a smile and stood up as confidently as he could. "I figured we could have a drink or two and chat a bit," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

Clark eyed him suspiciously as he came up the stairs. Questions running through his brain at the speed of light, he fumbled with his keys for a second before finally getting the door opened.

He motioned for Bruce to go inside.

"So, why are you really here?" Clark asked as soon as he closed the door behind them.

Bruce turned, brows furrowed, somewhat puzzled. Hadn't he sounded sincere enough? "I figured we could have a drink or--"

"You're kidding, right?" Disbelief written all over his face, Clark took a quick look at the bottle Bruce was holding, using his telescopic vision. "Geez, Bruce, that thing's got to be worth upwards of two thousand dollars!"

"I think four, actually," Bruce answered nonchalantly as he walked over to the kitchen in search of glasses. "What difference does that make?"

"Second cabinet to your left," Clark said, walking into the kitchen himself and proceeding to put away the groceries from the bag he was carrying. "You do realize that ordinary guys usually chat over a couple of cheap beers, don't you?"

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle. "Ordinary guys? I never figured you fit into that category." He took the first two glasses he found and then headed to the living room.

"I'm a small-time reporter who was raised on a farm in Kansas, in case you've forgotten." Clark turned off the kitchen light and joined Bruce on the couch in the now dimly lit living room.

"No, I meant--"

"Yeah, I _know_ what you meant. But there's more to me than just red and blue spandex. Just like there's more to you than supermodels and sports cars."

Clark accepted the proffered glass and raised it, watching as its contents swirled when he made small, circular motions with his wrist. He took a small sip of the amber liquid. "It doesn't taste all that expensive," he observed.

"It's not supposed to," Bruce explained. "And I honestly wasn't referring to any of the downright extraordinary things you can do - just... I never thought of you as an _ordinary_ guy."

"You don't know what I'd give to be ordinary, even just one day..." Clark sighed dejectedly and set his glass down on the coffee table. "What's the point in indulging in a glass of whisky this expensive if I'll never feel any effects from it?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "It beats being able to afford it only to watch others enjoy it, while - unbeknownst to them, of course - you're actually drinking apple juice."

"I suppose..." Shrugging, Clark went on, "But at the end of the day, you still get to enjoy some the perks of the lifestyle you lead."

"What...you mean the girls? You don't seriously believe that--" Bruce chuckled at the irony. "The fact is, at the end of the day..." He shook his head, his tone becoming more serious. "At the end of the day, no one but _Batman_ ever sleeps in my bed."

Surprised, Clark opened his mouth to reply, but Bruce continued, his voice lowering as he spoke. "You're not the only one who wishes his life was a little more ordinary."

"I..." Clark couldn't find the words to properly formulate any of the thoughts that were racing through his mind.

"You see, things aren't always as they seem." Slowly, Bruce pulled the sparkler and a lighter from his pocket. "Like this." Silver sparks started shooting from the wand when he lit it, illuminating their faces as their eyes met.

"See? Not all fireworks blow people up. Some of them are perfectly harmless."

To prove his point, Bruce licked his finger and gently touched the tip of the sparkler, eliciting a hissing sound.

In a low whisper, he added, "But the best ones can blow your mind."

"Playing with fire will only get you burned," Clark said warningly, his eyes fixed dazedly on the other man's fingers.

"I've yet to meet anyone who could."

"I have heat vision," Clark replied, almost challengingly, gazing directly into Bruce's eyes, from above the rim of his glasses.

Allowing himself to cup Clark's cheek with a hand, thumb brushing lightly against his bottom lip, Bruce added, "And super breath."

Without thinking, Clark closed his lips around the tip of Bruce's thumb, his tongue darting ever so slightly toward it. Bruce's breath caught and he gently slid his thumb further between Clark's lips.

Emboldened by the gesture, Clark started sucking on the offered digit, eliciting a throaty "uhhh," from Bruce.

The unexpected sound forced Clark back to reality, the spell suddenly broken. Eyes wide, his mouth hung open and he hurriedly got up from the couch, mumbling apology after apology. Bruce's hand fell limply into his lap. He set the spent firework on the end table and got up as well.

"I shouldn't have done... I wasn't thinking... Sorry... so sorry..." Clark kept repeating as he paced his living room nervously.

"Relax, Clark. It's okay."

"No... No, it's not. I... I should... _control myself_ better than this. Some Superman I am, not even strong enough to resist temptation... Look, I'm sorry. Just not thinking straight." He laughed nervously. "Yeah, see, cause that's the thing. I'm not. Straight, I mean. I'm not... I'm sure that has to come as a huge disappointment to you." He laughed nervously again, mumbling incomprehensibly as he resumed his pacing.

"Calm down." Grabbing his shoulders, Bruce forced him to stand still. "Really it's okay. I did _encourage_ you, after all. And no, it's not a disappointment - why would it be? Besides, it would be rather unfair of me to pass judgment on your orientation..."

Clark ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Thanks... I appreciate you not giving me a hard time about it. I'm not entirely comfortable telling people. Frankly, I'm afraid it might destroy Superman's image if they knew. I'm glad you're not that narrow-minded."

"Of course I'm not." Bruce snickered. "Clark... All these girls I'm not sleeping with, has it occurred to you that there might be a reason why?"

"Uh...? They're... I don't know. Not your type?"

"Definitely not my type." An enigmatic smile on his lips, Bruce added, "I prefer someone who's willing to go a few rounds at wrestling and give me a good run for my money."

"Female wrestlers?" Clark asked, slightly taken aback. While he could imagine that Bruce might be a little more selective than most guys, he hadn't supposed that his tastes were this particular. "Really?"

Bruce burst out laughing. "No, of course not! Am I going to have to draw you a picture?"

Clark stared blankly at him for a second before a flash of understanding lit his eyes. "Oh... a _guy_."

"Not just _a_ guy." Bruce smiled, taking a step closer. "I'm not interested in anyone... _ordinary_."

At that, Clark's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. "Me?" he asked softly, searching his friend's face for confirmation of something he'd longed to hear but had never dreamt possible.

"Of course I mean you," Bruce whispered, his eyes darkening as he stroked Clark's arm slowly.

"I... I didn't want to hope that you..." Clark smiled awkwardly, his breathing no longer following any sort of rhythm. "I... uh, Bruce?"

"Clark?"

Inching closer, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I'd very much like to kiss you, now."

"No need to ask permis-" The last of Bruce's words died in his throat as Clark's lips came crashing upon his own for a hard, demanding kiss.

Bodies pressed together, hands roaming with increasing urgency, they shared kiss upon searing kiss.

Mumbled words, thick with desire and need, echoed through the darkened room.

"Dreamt of this... so often... never thought..."

"Oh, Clark... wanted you... need you... so much..."

"Yours... want you... love you..."

_Love?_

Startled, Bruce's eyes flew open and he froze in place.

With a groan, Clark pulled back, backpedaling at super speed. "Oh, no... too fast... I didn't mean... I mean, I did... But I shouldn't have said... I'm sorry. Wasn't thinking... Shouldn't have said... It's silly, I know. I'm sorry. All that 'protect your heart' stuff that I never listened to, and then somehow developed feelings for you. I'm sorry. Just forget I said that..."

"Forget?" Bruce stared at him, eyes wide. "You guys with brains that function at the speed of light always manage to make mountains out of molehills before the mole's even had time to start digging."

"What?"

"You just took me by surprise, that's all." Bruce took Clark's hand gently in his, stroking it soothingly with his thumb. "But that doesn't mean you need to start spitting out apologies at me. And it doesn't mean I want to forget that you've said it, either. Clark... your feelings aren't _silly_."

Bruce moved in closer and a shy smile appeared on Clark's face as their gazes locked.

"Not silly at all," Bruce whispered against Clark's lips. "They're returned," he added breathlessly, kissing him once more.

Desire burning, they remained lip-locked all the way to the bedroom, where they fell onto the bed with a soft thud.

"Happy Fourth of July," Bruce murmured, a crooked smile on his lips.

Clark's voice was teasing. "Will there be fireworks?"

"Count on it."

  
=> End.


End file.
